


Drift

by tentacledicks



Series: Into The Storm [8]
Category: Watch Dogs (Video Games)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Really Ugly Jackets, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-06 04:44:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17933066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tentacledicks/pseuds/tentacledicks
Summary: I'll wear your granddad's clothes, I look incredible.





	Drift

**Author's Note:**

> You can thank Vindart for inspiring this with their horrible, 90s fashion ways.
> 
>  
> 
> [Just look at Aiden in this goddamn jacket.](https://twitter.com/Vindart_ME/status/1100262115246522368)

**July 7th, 2017, 13:07**

  


The pleather jacket in his hands threatened to crumble as Aiden said, “Have you ever thought about turning _down_ a job? Just as a thought experiment.”

“Three mill for one girl? I’d be running around in a damn tutu and polka-dot suspenders for that kind of profit-loss equation.” Jordi didn’t sound entirely convinced, but there was an edge to his voice that made Aiden sigh. Clearly he wasn’t enjoying this prospect either but hell, three million was three million. That said…

“And you’re bringing me along, _why_ ?” God, had they updated the inventory at _all_ since 2006? He couldn’t tell. Maybe that served Jordi’s purpose, but it made _Aiden_ feel like he was drowning the forgotten fashion of yesteryear. A few decades ago. Last goddamn century.

“Because I’m not going to be the only one running around looking like a clown. For fuck’s sake, suits were _all the rage_ in the eighties, how do they not have _anything_ that works?”

There it was. ‘I refuse to be humiliated without a scapegoat’ and the scapegoat was _him_. Aiden made a face, let the pleather drop from his fingers, and glumly continued picking through the jackets in front of him. Some of this had been Nicky’s style, but he’d been firmly in the realm of plain t-shirts and jeans for most of his youth. The Club asked its enforcers to have a couple good outfits, but he’d never needed more than the one—and once he’d left, he’d never really paid attention to the other fashion trends spreading out around him.

Most of these were pretty fucking abysmal, though. It really didn’t get much worse than polyester windbreakers in shocking primary colors. If it looked like a clown and walked like a clown…

He dumped the windbreaker over one arm, moving onward. The “Retro Fashion Gala” was _probably_ originally meant for better things than this, but now that it had turned into a combination charity ball and sorority event, it had gotten out of hand. There was a spending limit now, and it applied to _everyone_. No high society moneylenders got away with rolling up in a suit and ogling the twenty-somethings in leg warmers.

The photos he’d seen of previous years were pretty fucking hysterical, he’d admit. A lot less funny once he’d realized Jordi wanted _them_ to attend too. This year’s theme was ‘80s-90s’, though apparently some exceptions were being allowed for particularly abysmal metallic costumes from the early 2000s.

His fingers caught on a mesh shirt, and Aiden paused.

This thrift shop was a sprawling, multi-roomed affair. It had no less than four ‘dressing rooms’ that were just modified closets; the only unlocked entrance was by the cashier, to cut down on theft, and nothing in the back rooms was expensive enough to watch. He’d checked the cameras, but at least two of them were decorative only.

There were some customers up closer to the front, but this section was empty except for them. And if Jordi was doing this to make fun of him, well, Aiden was going to return the favor. He might not have been _totally_ aware of the fashion trends from his youth, but he was exactly aware enough to know what would catch Jordi’s attention.

The mesh shirt was dumped over his arm as well, and he peeked over the racks at Jordi, who was still grumbling over the dusty suit selection. Completely distracted. Perfect.

His own jeans would probably suit, but he hunted for an appropriately ruined set anyways. Just fucked up enough to be fashionable without being so fucked up that it got tossed for being unsaleable. This room didn’t have any accessories, but Jordi was still involved with the suit selection, so he slipped over to one of the neighboring rooms. Most of it was cheap jewelry—the good shit was up front, at a counter—but cheap was good. Cheap was _perfect_. Cheap included clip on earrings, which was almost more than he could’ve hoped for.

“ _Vintage_ my ass,” he muttered as he gathered his collection and poked his head back into the first room. Jordi had given up on the suits and was glowering aimlessly at the collection of shirts with various sayings on them now. Most of them were clearly touristy shit from places all over the States. “I’m gonna go try something on, see if it fits. Having fun yet?”

“Fuck off,” Jordi muttered, not even glancing back. This was either going to be funny, or fall flat—either way, it might make him reconsider the three million. Or at least, reconsider bringing _Aiden_ to the place.

The dressing rooms had mirrors, cheap ones made of plastic with a silvered backing. There was barely enough room for him to get undressed, but he managed it eventually, his gun and tactical baton carefully set underneath his shirt. Aiden didn’t plan to leave them behind, but he didn’t want an employee walking by and seeing them either.

At least the clothes were _clean_ , even if they had that faintly musty scent of fabric left for too long in the dim interior rooms of a thrift shop. The mesh shirt didn’t itch quite as much as he’d worried it would, though it was tighter and higher around his chest than he’d thought it would be; the jeans and windbreaker fit exactly as he’d figured they would. Carefully, he popped the clip on earring onto his ear, checking that it wasn’t going to stab anything or fall off. It was a single, gleaming cross, hanging down and catching the eye.

He looked stupid as hell. It reminded him of dressing up with Jacks and Lena when they were toddlers, back when a grown man wearing garish makeup and frilly bracelets was just part of the job description of being an uncle. The thought made him smile, and he was still grinning like an asshole when he popped open the door and nearly hit Jordi in the face.

“What the fuck, Pearce,” Jordi said, his hand blocking the door from opening any further.

“I’m just getting into the spirit of things.” Aiden grinned wider at the look of incredulous horror on Jordi’s face. “What, you wanted me to kick my feet and complain some more instead? The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can go out for lunch.”

Jordi’s eyebrows came down, his gaze tracking over Aiden’s face, down his chest, back up again to lock onto the earring. The horror in his expression was beginning to filter into indignation, which was even better—it wasn’t often that he got one over on Jordi like this, but he’d been on _fire_ these last couple months.

He opened his mouth to say something, but Jordi beat him to the punch, shoving him back into the closet and following after. The door clicked shut behind him.

“I hate, with every fiber of my being, that you made a fucking _windbreaker_ attractive, Aiden,” Jordi said, low and dangerous.

“I—what?” Aiden stumbled over the thought, intelligently, then stared at the hand still firmly pressed into his chest. In the list of conceivable outcomes from ‘wear a deliberately god awful outfit’, the option of ‘turn Jordi on’ hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“Genuinely. From the bottom of my heart. Fuck you for making this attractive.” Jordi huffed softly, leaning in until their faces were bare centimeters apart. “Do you know how awful it is, being the guy turned on by that shitty throwback fashion?”

“This is really not where I expected this conversation to go, you know,” Aiden said, resting a hand on Jordi’s waist, thumb hooking over the edge of Jordi’s belt. The air conditioner was making a valiant effort, but these little dressing rooms hadn’t been designed for ventilation, and two bodies in a confined space made it heat up quickly.

At least, that was his internal excuse for why it was suddenly hard to breath. The other option was a little too embarrassing to admit to.

Jordi’s palm slid down, rough calluses transferring from the mesh to the exposed skin of Aiden’s stomach. There was a soft thunk as Aiden knocked his head against the wall, _not watching_ , because if he watched he’d have to admit that they were getting handsy in a dressing room. While trying on clothes. Like teenagers.

Oh god, his teen years really _were_ coming back to haunt him.

“I think we have to pay for the clothes before you’re allowed to fuck me in them,” he said weakly, Jordi’s body pressed into his in a way that left _nothing_ to the imagination. Against his hip, he could feel Jordi’s dick swelling, his own cock beginning to harden in response.

“As long as we buy ‘em, who gives a shit?” Jordi’s mouth was working its way up his jaw, teeth catching on the lobe of his ear. The one without the earring on it. “You know, I’ve been thinking you’d look good with some piercings.”

“You are the fucking worst, Jordi.” Aiden sucked in a ragged gasp as Jordi bit down harder, both hands braced on Jordi’s hips now, the silk of Jordi’s shirt surprisingly hot under his fingers.

“ _You_ started it.” Jordi’s palms dragged up his sides, fingertips hooking under the band of the mesh shirt. The polyester of the windbreaker was heating up to match their skin, and Aiden could feel sweat beading up on his spine, wicked away by the fabric.

“I picked a stupid jacket, Jordi, I didn’t expect you to be this fucking _insatiable_ ,” he hissed, keenly aware now of the way this store was set up. The design of the rooms and the amount of fabric and clutter in them meant it was nearly impossible to hear them from the front, but what if?

Of the two, getting thrown out of a thrift shop for public indecency was a hundred times more humiliating than going to some stupid ugly clothes party.

“This is why I should carry lube more often,” Jordi muttered, dropping his head to Aiden’s shoulder as his thigh pressed firmly between Aiden’s legs.

“This is a very good reason to stop here and forget that either of us ever thought of fucking in a dressing room,” Aiden said, though he did nothing to push Jordi away. His hips rocked into the pressure, the muscle of Jordi’s thigh firm against his erection.

“Is this what some people get out of schoolgirl uniforms?” Jordi asked with dawning horror, his hands sliding into the back of Aiden’s jeans to palm his ass.

“I hate you. I hate you so much. This is _your_ fault, not mine.” Aiden squeezed his eyes shut for a couple seconds, then opened them again as he turned and kissed Jordi to make him _shut up_. They’d already committed to this, but that didn’t mean he had to listen to Jordi editorialize about it.

He was still focused on the silence behind the door, ears straining for any sound of footsteps or people approaching. His fingers tugged Jordi’s shirt free, hands sliding up over the heated skin underneath the silk, legs spread to accommodate him as Jordi hauled his hips up. The denim of his ripped jeans was too tight on his cock, the swell of it trapped against the zipper—his usual jeans were loose enough that it wasn’t painful, but these were a different matter.

“Fuck, okay,” he said, breaking the kiss, “I’m not going to come in these jeans, Jordi. At least let me get my pants off.”

“What, you’re going to do it on my clothes instead?” Jordi grumbled, though he leaned back and shoved the jeans down over Aiden’s hip. A low groan caught in Aiden’s throat as his cock sprang free, only a thin layer of cotton between him and freedom now.

“You started it.” Aiden’s voice wasn’t as caustic now, the pressure of Jordi’s groin against his a relief after the tight confines of the jeans. He tipped his head back again, rolling his hips up as he pulled Jordi closer, the air in the dressing room hot and heavy.

The earring brushed against his neck as Jordi’s mouth found the curve of his throat, the cold metal of Jordi’s belt biting into the skin on his stomach. With both of them staying quiet, the soft whisper of polyester brushing against itself was the only sound around them, the rest of the thrift shop dead quiet. The danger of getting caught was still there, hovering at the edges of his thoughts, making him acutely aware of every touch.

A soft, ragged gasp escaped him as Jordi’s lips trailed higher again, sealing their lips together as he rutted hard against Aiden’s body. Jordi’s muscles bunched under Aiden’s hands, his body moving with intent as he kept Aiden pinned to the wall, grinding their cocks together like the barriers of fabric didn’t matter. His fingers pushed up under Aiden’s underwear, cupped his ass, squeezed eagerly as Jordi groaned softly into his mouth.

For all that he was on edge, keeping an ear out for potential discovery, Aiden couldn’t keep track of how long they’d been in there. He didn’t have the brainpower to devote to timing, not when Jordi’s tongue was teasing over his, their cocks rubbing together in just the right way despite the fabric hiding them. Jordi’s back was slick with sweat, his body hot and heavy where it pinned Aiden to the wall, and there was something almost hypnotic to being trapped in a small space with him, the energy between them lighting Aiden up like a live wire.

“Fuck,” Jordi hissed against his lips, the rhythm of his hips slipping, His fingers tightened, dug into Aiden’s ass hard enough to bruise, and then he was groaning softly, pinning Aiden hard against the wall.

A startled, breathless laugh escaped Aiden, his own hips stuttering as he felt Jordi shake. There was something _powerful_ about seeing Jordi lose his cool like this, and it was that feeling of triumph that carried him over the edge, come smearing the inside of his briefs.

The air in the dressing room was heavy enough that it took him a while to catch his breath. As his heartbeat slowly returned to normal, Aiden realized that there was no way the poor store clerk would miss what he’d done in this jacket. The whole goddamn _closet_ smelled like sex.

“So, polyester really does it for you, huh?” he said, rather than dealing with that problem.

“Shut the fuck up.”


End file.
